


Uncle Aten

by letosatie



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Coming In Pants, Intercrural Sex, Loss of Innocence, M/M, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7791676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letosatie/pseuds/letosatie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Aten,” said Charles, wishing his voice reverberated from more than an undeveloped chest. “I think I have not very nephew-like feelings for you.”</p><p>Aten didn't smile to make light, he didn't frown to reflect shame, he simply said, “I know I have not very uncle-like feelings for you, Charles.”</p><p>Charles tried very hard to not to drop his eyes like a boy, but hold Aten's gaze like an equal. It was easier to breathe when he looked away.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In which Charles learns to speak Latin with his Uncle En Sabah Nur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An outing to town.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here.](http://letosatie.tumblr.com/post/136710158404/uncle-en-sabah-nur)
> 
> Obviously [Gerec's](http://gerec.tumblr.com/) fault.

Sharon Xavier’s cousin had become a cautionary tale, to be whispered over egg nog in corners at Christmas and thrown at the children with a flourish when they were too wild. 

“She married a foreign fellow,” said Sharon, lips almost disappeared in disapproval, “gave up her title, as he was common. They travelled, and boasted of their uncivilized activities as if they were something to be proud of. And then, she was dead by some horrid disease that we don’t have in proper countries, and worse, one of four dead wives that… apocalypse of a man has had.”

The admonishment had very little effect on Raven who, already short of breath in the stifling big top of the manor where Charles and Raven were expected to tread the tightrope of etiquette, heard only the adventure and freedom in those stories. It had no effect on Charles, who had weighed the giddy happiness and genuine affection his second cousin Elizabeth and “Uncle” Aten carried around them like a cloak, against the whorl of confusion and jealousy he often gauged from his mother, and came to his own conclusion. 

Charles kept in touch.

It was easy in term time, letters sent and received through the school where Charles boarded, a little more difficult to meet up the one time a year Uncle Aten visited America. 

Raven and Charles got permission for a trip into town, where Charles ‘suggested’ to their chaperone that she deserved a cup of tea and a long peaceful lunch without them. He led Raven to a hotel and asked the girl at the desk to please direct them to one of their guests, En Sabah Nur. “Room 237,” she told them, and they grinned at each other before walking arm in arm to the lift.

Uncle Aten opened the door to them. He did not seem to have aged, but Charles spotted a new scar on the underside of Aten’s jaw as he scooped the teenagers into a three way embrace. Aten smelt good, crisp and rich, cardamom and turmeric. Charles could feel Aten’s hand, firmly pressed into the dip between his shoulder blades, could feel it through his clothes, his skin and his vertebrae, as if it was directly plucking the nerves in Charles’ spinal column.

It was a brilliant afternoon with tea and cake from room service, gifts from Australia of all places, the warmth of Aten’s approval and stories met with laughter and enthusiasm. But Charles was distracted. He was sixteen now, he had had a growth spurt, though hopefully not his last one. And Aten’s eyes scanned him with a different approval. It made Charles’ breath stutter. It made the line from his belly button to his groin sting. 

“I’m going up to Bard in the fall,” he told his Uncle, “It’s early, but I’m ready.”

“Of course you are, you’ve grown up so much. I’ve never met a young person with your level of maturity.” Aten’s voice alighted on Charles like steam, pinpricks that cooled his pores but boiled all over, made him dizzy.

Aten walked them to the atrium before it got too late. “Be good,” he told Raven as he spun her around. He gripped Charles by the shoulder, “I’ll visit at Bard, Charles, if you like?”

“Yes, I… I’d really like that.”

“Good.”

He hadn’t looked away. His hand was still cinching Charles’ trapezius. All of Charles’ awareness was anchored to Aten, his body by the shoulder and his brain in the recesses of his pupils. 

“We had better go, Charles,” Raven said, tugging him.

“Yes,” Charles repeated. “I’ll see you Uncle Aten.”

“You can probably call me Aten, Charles. A college man now, aren’t you?”

A blush rose in Charles’ face and neck, flaring in sync with a thrill of anticipation, and college seemed an even greater wonderland and September seemed too far away.


	2. First green is gold

When En Sabah Nur visited Charles at Bard, he was like an oasis. Charles had been thirsty for attention, and Aten's gaze was a sudden and welcome drenching.

He was there to meet Charles on a Friday, and followed Charles on a tour of the campus with enthusiasm, saying, “Brilliant,” and “that seems sensible,” and other encouragements. Charles began to shiver in the October afternoon. Aten shrugged out of his coat and held it out for Charles to slip into and, oh what a delightful metaphor for how Charles felt when enveloped in Aten's attention, an antipole to home, where being noticed was like walking on gravel: sharp, stinging, a relief to be at the other side.

Charles wanted to show Aten everything and show Aten to everyone. The interest that was puffed over Charles from the pretty girls, affable guys and fond professors, was shot like an unwavering laser at his uncle. But best, best of all, was how Aten ignored the looks, politely nodded at the greetings and, then, turned straight back to Charles with a secret smile.

They went to dinner, and Charles stared a bit apprehensively at his full glass of wine, while Aten ordered for them. It was languid meal stretched out like gum over two hours, Aten maintaining contact, eye or ankle or with his palm cupping Charles' fingers. They'd removed their jackets, though Aten was still in his waistcoat, Charles could see his silver belt buckle just above the crisp white napkin draped properly over Aten's lap. Charles looked up. Aten was watching him and his smile was unfamiliar to Charles: fond, content, knowing, predatory, a smirk with hope.

“Aten,” said Charles, wishing his voice reverberated from more than an undeveloped chest. “I think I have not very nephew-like feelings for you.”

Aten didn't smile to make light, he didn't frown to reflect shame, he simply said, “I know I have not very uncle-like feelings for you, Charles. You, so much greater than the house you've come from.” He pinched Charles' chin with firm fingers, “I think it's the spark of curiosity in your eyes I love the most.”

Charles tried very hard to not to drop his eyes like a boy, but hold Aten's gaze like an equal. It was easier to breathe when he looked away.

Aten signalled to the waiter for the check. “You understand, I can't stay here, but I can adore you in my absence and ensure you are thoroughly loved during my visits.”

It was dark and crisp outside the restaurant. Every time Charles snuck a glance at Aten, he was already looking at Charles. The heat in Charles' cheeks and ears kept Charles' temperature constant despite the season.

Charles boarded with a widow during term, so that his dinners and his laundry were taken care of. She waved from the sitting room and Charles brought Aten in to be introduced. Mrs Cutler was very charmed. Charles was unsurprised.

“Will you show me your room, Charles?” Aten inquired mildly.

Charles nodded, unable to even make his voice work. He led Aten up the stairs.

His small room was chilly but he didn't stop Aten from taking his coat then his jacket, and two shirt buttons had been disentangled by clever fingers before Charles even noticed.

Charles had kissed a girl at cotillion, and his dorm mates at school had exchanged hand jobs, but it was May to September how it felt when Aten kissed him. That had been furtive flashes of elation that sparked in Charles’ brain and was added to the dragon hoard of information there. 

This was a drowning. Charles was floating, inverted, unanchored.

Charles was not a good boy, not according to his mother, not according to anyone that knew he was a mindreading freak. Somehow, Aten allowed Charles to be good, to feel good. Charles was quite suddenly determined to honour Aten’s faith; Aten had cracked the concrete of his upbringing and Charles would sprout green and hopeful from the sidewalk from now on. 

Charles pressed up onto his toes, and then forward again when Aten dispatched the tension of his fly and gripped him through his underwear. Aten was much rougher than Charles ever was with himself. Charles groaned but didn’t pull away - only held on tighter around Aten’s neck when his knees started to shake.

Charles chased the strong hand in his pants. He was smart, but he was also curious. He was simply chasing information, chasing results. He thrust harder. Aten cooed, “Yes, Charles. Move for me.”

Charles’ head sagged backward, all tension reserved for his groin and the arm clipped around Aten’s neck like a carabiner. There was no feeling in, no connection to, his legs or head; everything reserved for Aten and their points of contact.

Everything was hot; Aten’s tongue in Charles’ mouth, his hand rubbing hard, his breath rolling over Charles’ cheek, and his voice humming, “My darling boy, I want everything you’ve got to give me.” And Charles went stiff on an inhale and there was only heartbeat and Aten’s warmth and heat like Charles had never felt. 

Slowly, Charles’ body, then Aten, then the room, then the sticky mess in Charles’ pants came back. 

“Do you think Mrs Cutler reports back to your mother, Charles?” Aten asked as they surveyed his underwear.

“I'm certain of it,” Charles said, frowning.

“Let me,” Aten commanded gently and peeled the Y-fronts down before cleaning Charles tenderly with a flannel. God, even that felt good. “Get changed,” Aten said, “and pack a weekend bag. Be sure to bring those clothes and we’ll have them washed while we’re away. Can’t have Mrs Cutler washing them now.”

Aten left him and Charles hurried to follow directions, just clicking his case closed when Aten knocked. He grinned at Charles when the door was opened. “I advised Mrs Cutler I'm taking you away for an educational trip,” he said, kissing Charles briefly. “Come on, I have a room in Hudson at the St. Charles. Appropriate, no?”

“Oh,” said Charles.

It was late when they pulled into the hotel car park, the brick structure of the hotel fuzzy and lurching in Charles’ tired vision. Aten checked them in and Charles followed a step behind, trying hard to keep his shoulders up. He was still growing, not as fast as Cain, but sometimes hunger or tiredness came upon him adamant and dogged as a toddler. 

The room was neat, nothing like a city hotel but proudly cleaned and set into impeccable angles. Aten slung his suitcase on one of the twin beds and smiled at Charles. “Sleep, my boy. We’ll have an adventure tomorrow.” He kissed Charles on the forehead and lit a cigarette on the way to the armchair on the other side of the room. Charles undressed clumsily and crawled under the covers sighing. He closed his eyes on the warmth of Aten’s smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is getting longer - oops


End file.
